White Rose
by Klara1706
Summary: As has been said before I don't own the characters, however one of them appears to have owned part of me for 36 years. This is my first story I have ever written. The story touches on more of Bodie's back story, more chapters to follow.
1. Chapter 1

White Rose

Chapter 1

As the woman stepped out of the shower, water cascading off her wet hair, she coolly appraised the reflection in the mirror – 5'8", slim and athletic, lithe like a cat. Vibrant green eyes stared back as she drew a comb through her long red hair. She didn't notice the scars marking her body – to her they were a road-map of her life, they didn't bother her any more, to outsiders they marked her out as someone different, someone with a past. Her face tightened slightly as the comb caught in the tangles pulling at her shoulder, still stiff after all this time. She frowned, from pain or annoyance, who could tell? Her past – that was hers, you could probably find out if you needed to with the right connections. Her name – she would tell you to choose and she would answer to it, as to her real name, not many people knew.

The woman moved restlessly into the room collecting her discarded clothing, putting it on knowing it was time to leave. She took one last look at the prone figure on the bed, collected her keys and walked out. The only movement in the room was the slow drip of blood as the man's life drained away.

'3-7, 4-5' the call came over the radio as Bodie flung the Capri round into the last space outside CI5 headquarters.

'Couldn't resist mate, last space' said Bodie grinning at his partner.

'Go ahead Control.'

'Report to Alpha 1 immediately.'

'On our way, 4-5 out.'

Bodie raised one elegant eyebrow as he looked across at Doyle, 'What now?'

Doyle shrugged 'We'll find out soon enough, but I'll bet it's not a pay rise!'

'Ray,' said Bodie staring past his partner 'how come Murph's parking the Escort out on the street?'

'Well, some wise-arse nicked the last space!' As Doyle turned to look the car took off with clouds of smoke and screaming gears.

'Couldn't have been Murph, that's not his style, he'd have blocked us in.'

The two men put the car out their minds as they made their way to the Controller's office.

'Nice of you to join me, what kept you?' asked Cowley when they had closed the door.

'What us, Sir, nothing' said Bodie, 'why the rush?

'There's been another one, this time at the Majestic.'

'The Majestic, Sir?'

'Yes Doyle,' Cowley replied 'take a look at the photos and then get over there, see what you can find out. Top priority we need to find out who and why!'

Doyle grabbed the file as the men left the office. 'You drive Bodie and I'll give you the details on the way.' Doyle flicked through the photos as the Capri wove through the traffic.

'At least he died with a smile on his face' commented Bodie as he stole a sideways glance at one of the photos. 'I reckon it was a woman.'

'Bodie just drive. Anyway how can you tell?'

'Look at the room – it's the same as the others, the bed's all messed up and both pillows are dented. Also there's a comb on the side, really Doyle none of the men could have been said to have a full head of hair, unlike you.'

'That doesn't mean a thing – it might have been left by the previous occupant.' Doyle carried on reading the file, filling in the man's life for his partner, ignoring the jibe.

'So what's the link?' asked Bodie.

'None' replied Doyle 'other than they were all low level civil servants who happened to end up dead in hotel rooms. They didn't know each other, never worked together and were all too low to know anything. Betty's run all the usual checks, nothing remarkable about them, just linked by their deaths, oh and a rose.'

'A rose? What kind of rose?' asked Bodie, a chill ran down his spine. 'Doyle, a rose?'

Doyle cut his partner off mid-sentence 'Didn't Cowley send Murph back to the Imperial to ask more questions?'

'Murph? Yeah I think he did, why?'

'He's just pulled in down the road.'

'The Imperial's the other side of the river.'

'Can't be then, must be another white Escort.'

'Not like we've got the only white Escort in London is it?' replied Bodie as he turned to look at the car, his mind still on roses and why they made him feel uncomfortable, every hotel had flowers in their rooms, even roses.

As Bodie got out of the car the camera shutter clicked capturing the brooding CI5 man scanning the street. The woman slipped the car into gear and moved off slowly this time as the men went into the hotel.

'So we know the men didn't check in alone, they all checked in with a woman, any details?' Cowley asked 'Is it the same woman?'

'Hard to say Sir, all we have from the receptionists is a vague description of a tall woman, average age, average build, average bloody everything!' replied Doyle throwing the file down on the desk.

'Apart from the eyes, Sir'

'Eyes, Bodie?'

'Yes Sir, they all said she had striking eyes.'

'And?'

'Oh sorry, yeah' Bodie seemed distracted and distant. 'They all said she had striking green eyes, vivid in fact.' The man shivered.

Cowley glanced at Doyle, who shrugged imperceptibly.

'They couldn't agree on hair colour, dress anything.'

'But is it the same woman? Anything else?'

'The rose' said Doyle.

Bodie seemed to be startled at the mention of the rose but covered it with a cough.

'What about the rose?' asked Cowley.

'One has been found on every body Sir' said Doyle.

Bodie closed his eyes, took a deep breath and asked 'What's so special about the roses?'

'They're always white' said Doyle.

'With a hint of pink?' Bodie pursued.

'Yes, why?' Cowley asked him.

'Nothing Sir, just thinking' replied Bodie 'lots of hotels have flowers in their rooms, very handy!'

'Bodie! Och it's not much to go on – no motive, no link just a tall average woman with green eyes' said Cowley.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

'Fancy a drink mate?'

'Yeah, why not.'

'Tall with green eyes' Doyle thought out loud over a pint. 'Does that ring any bells?'

'I knew a tall red-haired fiery Irish lass once, a long time ago,' said Bodie as he stared into the depths of his pint 'fantastic figure, tall, athletic and ...'

'Not our woman, then all the receptionists said she was blonde, maybe a hooker, couldn't take her hands off the blokes and the rooms were paid for in cash.' Doyle prodded his partner 'Hey Romeo, are you listening?'

Bodie jumped 'Sorry mate, miles away!'

'So Mr Mysterious, who was this red-head?'

'Just a bird, all turned a bit sour really.'

Doyle looked across at Bodie but the shutters had come down; he sensed there was more to the story but Bodie being Bodie wasn't saying. 'You staying or going mate?'

'You go on Ray, see you tomorrow' Bodie said looking past Doyle, his eyes in the past.

The woman at the bar watched the exchange between the two men and turned thoughtfully away.

Doyle drove home thinking about his partner, some days he couldn't work out what was going on behind those blue eyes, other days, well he was an open book, emotion written all over his face. Tonight Doyle knew what was bothering his friend was a lot more than just some bird, he had a feeling things weren't right and that perhaps he should keep an eye on him.

The woman stood in the alley, her eyes reflecting the pale light from the flat – she'd seen Bodie stagger home apparently worse for his night in the Crown. After a while the shadows deepened as the blind went down and the light was turned off. One of the shadows detached itself from the alley and flitted on silent feet up the fire-escape. The woman paused at the partially open window, gingerly easing it open, testing for groans from the Victorian sash. Luckily the old building was well maintained and holding her breath she slipped over the threshold. Bodie must have been drunk when he came in as the alarm hadn't been set. Three doors led off the living room – kitchen, hall and the bedroom, with the latter slightly ajar. She padded across the room, pausing in the doorway, the throbbing in her shoulder causing her to draw in a sharp breath – why now? She looked at the figure in the bed barely covered by the flimsy sheet, arm thrown casually over those blue eyes closed in sleep, snoring gently. The woman stood by his head, emotions long forgotten fighting in her face, her eyes bright glittering with the unwanted emotions that were flooding her brain. The knife shimmered wickedly in her hand as it flashed downwards. Finish it now her brain screamed but her hand wouldn't obey, the blade sliced the skin leaving a long slash across his chest. Bodie stirred, mumbled and his eyes flicked open slightly, not awake but dreaming remembering something buried deep. Quietly the woman stood breathing deeply, a small sob escaped and she turned leaving the white rose at the foot of the bed where the blue eyes couldn't miss it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bodie slowly surfaced from the fog of sleep, cursing his pounding head, 'how much did I have to drink last night?' he thought as he dragged himself into the bathroom, blue eyes dim and barely focused. Shower, coffee, breakfast in that order should put the world to rights, plus a couple of pain killers to numb his head. Something was tugging at the edges of his consciousness – hopefully the cold water should work its magic and clear away the fog. He stepped under the icy stream and swore violently – his chest stung, snapping the blue eyes wide. 'Shit' fresh blood was running down his muscular body 'what the...' He couldn't complete the thought as he looked down and saw a fresh cut on his chest. The cut was long, rough and oozing fresh blood 'how the hell...' Bodie turned off the shower and tried to think back to the previous night – a drink with Ray at the Crown, Ray leaving and after that a dim recollection of someone in his flat, his bedroom but who? He towelled his body slowly, eyes barely registering the myriad of scars – some from knives, others left by bullets – there was something missing but what the hell was it? Long forgotten faces swam before his eyes, some dead, others God alone knew where, they crowded his brain, all had left their mark. He pulled on an old tracksuit, coffee and breakfast forgotten, he needed to run, run from all the demons – clear them out so he could think clearly. As he left the flat he grabbed his gun and set the alarm as usual not noticing the rose lying forlornly at the foot of his bed.

Doyle whistled cheerfully as he pulled up outside Bodie's flat his good mood reflecting the weak sunshine just making itself known over the rooftops. He took the stairs two at a time and paused before leaning long and hard on the intercom – Bodie was a heavy sleeper and notoriously bad at mornings. Doyle peered through the letterbox expecting to see his bleary eyed partner heading for the door but his only greeting was the smell of fresh coffee and the hint of something sweeter, more feminine like perfume.

Bodie ran, ran hard, each pounding footfall driving another demon back into its own box, locked away safe, not for sharing. Running always running, why did it help – was it the distance from memories, pain or just the need to get as far away from people as possible? All Bodie knew was it was good for him, set him back on a near even keel. All his life he could remember running – running from others, running from himself, what he'd become, a cold paid killer, no other way to describe his life. Sweat poured down his face trying to cleanse him only today it wasn't working instead of lifting his mood it only seemed to make it darker. The long easy strides eventually carried the man back to his flat, fresh coffee, a second shower and waiting breakfast. As he stripped out of the wet tracksuit something caught his eye at the foot of the bed, the blue eyes took on a steely hue and the face darkened, lips drawn tight, eyebrows knitted together in concentration and worry. The sight of the rose on the bed triggered something deep within the man and he realised that things were hurtling out of control.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

'Ah Doyle, there you are' said Cowley as he stepped out of his office 'I need to speak to you. Where's Bodie?'

'Well, Sir, he's either out running or having a long lie in, I didn't speak to him but there was a strong smell of coffee coming from the flat along with the hint of perfume...'

'Good, I need to speak to you alone' Cowley cleared his throat delicately, 'how much do you know about Bodie's past?'

'His past, Sir look what's this about?' Doyle closed the door to the office behind him, something wasn't right in fact things felt wrong very wrong indeed. 'I know he's ex-Army, Paras and SAS, that he spent time in Africa before that but as for details, very little, Sir.'

'There's been a development...'

'What has this got to do with Bodie, Sir?'

'Let me finish Doyle, you need to hear this, all of it and it goes no further than this office, do I make myself clear 4-5?'

Doyle flinched, if he was being addressed as 4-5 then this was serious, deadly serious 'You have my word, Sir.'

'We ran a print found at one of the hotels and...'

'It came up with a hit!'

'Several, in fact the computer lit up like a Christmas tree.'

'And what does that mean?'

'It means we have a name for our killer, Siobhan Kelly. The name has been linked to several unsolved murders, mainly over the water, the odd one here, now she's turned up on our patch for some reason. The woman has quite a reputation by all accounts, she's been linked closely with some serious people in Ireland.'

Doyle thought for a moment 'But what's this got to do with us Sir? Bodie was reminiscing last night about some Irish bi... woman he knew, he said it all turned a bit sour, must be a coincidence, there's always a woman in Bodie's stories.'

'A bit sour that's an understatement, even by Bodie's standards! Does the name mean anything to you at all Doyle?'

'Siobhan Kelly,' Doyle thought for a moment 'no Sir.'

'What about Patrick Kelly?'

'Patrick Kelly,' Doyle closed his eyes brain racing 'not Pat Kelly, Irish dissident, gun-runner you name it, got shot by a patrol in Belfast, Paras wasn't it, about 7 or 8 years back ...' Doyle stopped mid-sentence 'he had a sister?'

'Yes Doyle, he did, she turned up not long before his death, badly beaten, broken bones, black eyes, you name it, wouldn't say who'd done it. She disappeared after his death and slipped under the radar until one of the Paras involved in her brother's death ended up with his throat cut in a gutter in Aldershot.'

'I remember that, it made the national papers but I still don't see what this has got to do with us, the MP's thought it was a pub brawl that got out of hand.'

'Don't you Doyle, think carefully, where was Bodie around that time?

'Army Sir, Paras ...' Doyle took a deep breath 'you're not saying Bodie pulled the trigger on Pat Kelly are you?'

'No Doyle, he didn't, his patrol weren't involved in the Kelly incident, they weren't even in Belfast at the time.' The look Cowley gave Doyle left him with no doubt that they were involved in something totally deniable, black ops, right up Bodie's street. 'What did Bodie say about this Irish lass?'

'Not a lot really Sir, other than she was a fiery red-head with a fantastic figure and ...'

'And, and what?'

'That she was tall and athletic with green eyes ... Shit!'

'Sit down Doyle. Let me finish telling you what I know. It turns out that it was Pat Kelly who put his sister in hospital, seems she'd met someone in Liverpool, a British soldier and had moved in with him. Siobhan had been sent to stay with relatives on the mainland while the worst of the trouble had been going on – she was just 17 at the time. The family decided that given her brother's activities she would be safer with an aunt and uncle over here.'

'Bodie' Doyle shook his head 'what had he been thinking Sir, if that had come out imagine the fall out – British soldier shacked up with sister of top Irish gun-runner! No wonder he's kept that quiet! Did he know who her brother was?'

'Yes Doyle and that is how it has got to stay. Now you know why this can't go outside this office, the implications could still be far reaching even now. No I don't think Bodie made that connection until after Kelly's death, by which time he'd passed the SAS selection and had moved to Hereford leaving most of his mates behind so no-one was any the wiser about his ex-girlfriend. '

'And now she's here killing lowly civil servants – this has never been about them, it's all been a come-on, this is personal! Do you know anymore about their relationship, why she is after him?' Doyle jumped up 'Bodie ...'

'4-5 stop right there! I've already sent 6-2 to keep a watch on the flat, he should be there about now.'

'Murphy, what car's he driving' demanded Doyle, 'it's important!'

'Car, I don't know, Doyle, one out the pool ones, he usually has takes the Escort doesn't he? What's the car got to do with anything?'

'There's been a white Escort around, like the pool one, it was here and at the Majestic ... shit, shit, shit!'

'You know him best Doyle, what is he likely to do?'

'At the moment Sir, I wouldn't like to guess but if he knows who it is, well ... ' Doyle left the words hanging. As he ran out of the office, Doyle realised that all the signs had been there and that his mate was in a very dark place – heaven help anyone who got in the way.

Cowley stood in his office, glasses hanging limply from one hand, thinking about the two men – chalk and cheese, light and dark, fire and ice, any number of opposites could describe them. Doyle – a policeman through and through with an analytical mind, prone to hot-headed angry outbursts, a real fiery character but solid and dependable in any situation, loyal and trustworthy. Bodie – well he was just Bodie, dark, smouldering, an enigma to nearly all who met him, closed off and a born loner but again trustworthy and loyal. Cowley thought back to the file on his desk, Bodie's file, the details were scant on the man's life prior to CI5, true he'd fought in Africa, sold his expertise to the highest bidder, not strong on morals some might say, then back to England and Army life, which was well documented but nothing about the man himself. Bodie kept his private life very private, unless he wanted you to know – Cowley knew, however that Bodie was a man of very strong morals and a conscience to match, he could see him wrestling with it every time the agent pulled the trigger or used a knife, he could see the toll it took on the man. Cowley worried about Bodie more than he would ever let on, even to Doyle, he knew about the black episodes and how Bodie fought to keep them to himself, not even hinting at them during the regular meetings all the agents had with Dr Ross the unit's psychiatrist. Cowley knew that this needed to be handled very carefully, not only could it damage Bodie it could unwittingly call into doubt CI5's very existence if it got out that one of its agents had been connected to on of the top Irish dissident families. Cowley trusted Doyle, and Murphy for that matter, to keep a lid on this before it got out of hand, they were good at damage limitation. 'Och laddie, what did you think you were doing?' said Cowley out loud.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

One white rose, a single solitary stupid white rose – how could such a simple, inoffensive object cause so much pain, unleash so many demons? Bodie looks at the rose with loathing, bile rising in his throat, finally making the connection to the dead men. It had all been an elaborate come-on there was no link, no motive, just more innocent people dead because of him, more demons knocking on his door, looking for retribution. 'You bitch, you red-haired Irish bitch!' Bodie screams at the rose, every syllable drawn, out dripping with venom. He catches sight of himself in the mirror as he rushes to the bathroom – sees his own face pale, emotions fighting in his eyes, hate, anger, fear. He just makes it in time and throws up the bile threatening to choke him, sweating and swearing. The pressure is building, bubbling up forcing the demons closer, he knows what is coming – radio in now before it gets too much. He crawls back into the bedroom and picks up the radio, hating himself for what he is about to do.

'3-7 to Control'

'Go ahead 3-7'

'Can you pass a message to Alpha 1 hang on a sec,' he charges back into the bathroom, more heaving 'won't be in today, some kind of bug'

'Understood 3-7, Control out.'

Bodie barely hears the reply as he curls up on the bathroom floor, guts churning, eyes blankly looking into the past, waiting for the carefully constructed walls to come crashing down around him. He lays on the floor, murmuring, tears falling silently down his pale face. The flashbacks begin, silent faces, the nameless and the named, crowd in jockeying for position, then come the screams. In his mind the man fights with all the tricks he has learnt over the years, trying to put right the wrongs, give peace and justice to the wronged. The flashbacks are part of his life, a part that is carefully hidden away not for the world to see, normally they torture his sleep rarely slipping past the barriers he has put up but this is different. The rose takes him back to events that should never have happened, people he should never have become involved with. The green eyed girl he fell for, got close to and let into his life, the beating he ran away from – he sent flowers, white roses blushed with pink and then he walked away without a word. There are many things in the man's life he is not proud of, the dirty wars he has fought in, the people that he has become close to and let down and those he has disowned.

As the sun rises the man descends into his own private hell, the only time he moves is to be sick again and eventually he falls into a restless sleep. Slowly as day passes on to evening Bodie comes out of the nightmares, feeling drained and confused not sure of who he is. He staggers to drinks cabinet and pours a large measure of scotch, looking at the carnage he has unconsciously done – there is a large fist shaped hole in one of the doors and he looks down at his hand tentatively flexing it. Suddenly he throws the bottle at the same door, ashamed of what he is. He dresses hurriedly, without his usual care, finds his wallet and leaves the flat via the fire-escape without setting the alarm, his radio, gun and ID forgotten beside his bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

'Murphy, come in'

'Yeah Doyle, what's up?'

'You outside the target yet?'

'Yeah'

'Any sign of movement?'

'No, all quiet on the western front'

Doyle smiled at the quip. 'Very apt, Murph'

'Did Alpha 1 tell you the target is off net?'

'No,' Doyle's stomach churned uneasily 'in what way?'

'Sick, some sort of bug, the message was garbled and accompanied by some not so savoury sound effects'

'Should be a quiet shift for you then. Keep on this channel, listening out'

'Yeah great, lights are on, will up date with any changes, listening out'

Doyle walked down the corridor to the rest room, thinking back over the last couple of days, trying to remember what had been said by his partner, worrying that he had missed something. The conversation in Cowley's office kept coming back to him, he felt uncomfortable with the whole situation – he still tended to think in black and white when in reality life was all manner of shades of grey. He silently cursed his partner as he reached out for the kettle, unsure of how to deal with the recently imparted information about Bodie's past, he thought over the years he had got a measure of the man but know he wasn't so sure. Women were something the men had discussed on numerous occasions, recent conquests and those from their respective pasts, but Bodie had never mentioned anyone from his Army days.

Doyle decided as Murphy had the flat covered, he should take a closer look at the hits that Kelly's print had generated. The information was sparse, just a list of probable kills going back over the last 6 years – the woman was good, very good but this time she had been careless leaving a print for them to work on. This confirmed to Doyle's policeman's nose that she was distracted by the personal connections to her intended target. Doyle stretched and looked out of the window, evening was starting to draw in time to call it a day. He checked with Betty to see if anything new had come up while he'd been busy but it looked like things were quiet so he decided to head off. Doyle thought about his partner and picked up his keys, deciding to leave by the backstairs to avoid the squad room and its toilet humour about Bodie and his eating habits.

It was fully dark when Doyle pulled up round the corner from the flat, he could see Murphy huddled in the Escort maintaining his lonely vigil. Cowley had put a good man to watch Bodie's back. Doyle decided to use the fire-escape rather than the front door, so as not alert Murphy to his visit. Doyle crouched outside the window, watching; the lights were still on and he could not tell if anyone was inside. He took out his gun as a precaution and opened the window expecting what he wasn't sure. Doyle could see that the alarm panel was dark, he must be in, Bodie was obsessive about security and always chided Doyle about the times Doyle forgot to set his. The flat seemed eerily quite as Doyle made his way to the bedroom expecting to see his partner sleeping off the effects of the mysterious bug that had made him call in sick. Doyle pushed open the door and was met with the smell of sweat, sick and fear, he crossed quickly to the bathroom, noting the sick splattered room and the wet towels, some streaked with blood. As he turned to leave the bedroom Doyle saw the gun, radio and ID lying on the floor beside the bed, discarded like last week's news and then more worryingly he spotted the rose 'Oh shit! What's going on, mate?'

'Alpha 1 this is 4-5 come in'

'Go ahead 4-5'

'I'm at the target's flat, Sir, target is not here, I repeat not here'

'Do you think the target has been taken?'

'I'm not sure Sir'

'Where is 6-2?'

'Still on plot'

'Do you think the target could have left of his own volition?'

'It's possible, I'm going to ...'

'4-5, come in 4-5'

Doyle turned off the radio, it was better that he didn't hear the rest of Cowley's order because he was going to ignore it anyway. Doyle carried on looking round the flat, noticing for the first time the fist shaped hole in the door, the empty glass, the scotch dripping down the wall and the broken bottle on the floor. Doyle sank on to the sofa, the very one they'd both sat on and shared beers, football and laughs plus a few fights, trying to get inside Bodie's head – alcohol and a black mood not a good combination, anything could happen. Where would he go in Bodis's state of mind – pub, off-licence or to look for the woman?


End file.
